“Yes, madame!” Philippa smiled broadly. She was already cured of her pique over the duplicitous Giles FitzHugh, for her little adventure at the top of the Canted Tower had done that, but the queen would not believe it, she knew.
“Go along now, my child. May the Blessed Mother protect you in your travels, and bring you safely home,” Katherine said.
“And may God and his gracious son, our lord Jesu, protect your highness, and give you your heart’s desire,” Philippa said, curtseying a final time as she backed from the room followed by Sir Bayard Dunham.
The queen acknowledged the girl’s prayer with a gracious nod of her head.
In the queen’s antechamber Sir Bayard said, “I hope you understand that first light means just that, Mistress Meredith. We shall not waste half the day away waiting for you to finish your toilette. How large a baggage cart will you have?”
“My court clothing is hardly suitable to Cumbria,” Philippa said quietly. “Both my servant, Lucy, and I will carry what we will need, sir. I am not fond of long journeys, and while I do not relish a summer on my mother’s estates I am anxious to get there. We will ride until dark each day, I hope. And I assume you have arranged for our accommodations along the way, Sir Bayard.”
“I have,” he said, not in the least offended by her tart manner. Then he bowed neatly. “I shall see you in the morning then, Mistress Meredith.”
Philippa curtseyed to him politely and then, turning, walked away. Finding Lucy she told her, “Our escort is Sir Bayard Dunham. He’s a tough old bird, and I have seen him about the court. We are to leave at first light, and he means it.”
“I’ll see we’re up, and have some food in our bellies,” Lucy responded. She had matured since that day she rode into Edinburgh with Philippa, both of them openmouthed at the sight of the first city either had ever seen.
“Will you come back to court with me, Lucy?” Philippa asked suddenly. “I know you have missed Friarsgate far more than I have.”
“Of course I’ll come back with you!” Lucy exclaimed. “If you brought someone new they would be of no use to you at all. A few months at Friarsgate, and I’ll be cured of any desire to remain there indefinitely.” The tiring woman chuckled, patting her young mistress’s arm. “Why, I can already smell the stink of the sheep!”
Philippa laughed. “Aye, just thinking about it I can too.”
In the morning with the sun not even up yet, but their stomachs full of good oat stirabout, freshly baked warm bread that had been covered in butter with plum jam, and the queen’s finely watered wine, they awaited Sir Bayard by the stables where the grooms held their horses, and a troop of armed men were already mounted. Their escort rushed up, obviously embarrassed that he had overslept.
Philippa and Lucy mounted their animals, and Philippa said, “Where is the food basket, please?”
“Right here, m’lady,” the captain of their guard said, pointing to the back of his saddle where a wicker container had been strapped.
Philippa turned to Sir Bayard. “Are we ready then, sir?”
He glowered at her, certain she was mocking him, but her face showed no sign of humor, and so he nodded first to her, and then to the captain. They left Woodstock Palace, moving through the town of the same name, and out onto the road north. When they had ridden for about an hour Philippa reached out to touch Sir Bayard’s sleeve. Startled, he looked at her. She handed him a small wrapped napkin, but said nothing. Opening it as they rode along he saw a thick piece of buttered bread with a sliced egg and a piece of ham atop it. Philippa had already looked away, and was engaging her servant in conversation. His belly rumbling, Sir Bayard Dunham ate the breakfast she had so thoughtfully provided for him, thinking that perhaps this young girl was not as flighty as he had assumed she was. As were all the queen’s maids of honor usually.
They traveled almost the same exact route Philippa had taken when she had come to court. The route her mother had taken those many years ago. They rode through beautiful Warwickshire with its great castle and green meadows. The justly famous dreadful roads in Staffordshire had not changed at all, and while it did not rain, the river crossings were still difficult.
“Outrageous! No excuse for this!” Sir Bayard muttered to himself.
When they reached Shropshire Philippa remembered that Bessie Blount had said that her father’s hall was there. “Will we stay at Kinlet Hall?” she asked.
“Nay, worse luck,” Sir Bayard responded. “ ’Tis not on our direct route.”
At that moment a large flock of black-faced sheep began to cross the road, and her escort swore beneath his breath.
“Get those damn animals out of our path!” he ordered the men.
“No, no!” Philippa cried. “If you scatter the flock the shepherd will have a difficult time gathering them all up, and they may lose some of the beasts. We must not cost the farmer who owns them any of his animals. We can wait.”
“You are knowledgeable about sheep?” Sir Bayard said, curious.
“My family’s wealth comes from sheep, and their wool,” Philippa answered him. “These are a breed named after the county. Their wool is particularly fine. My mother has several flocks of them.”
Sir Bayard Dunham looked surprised by her answer. Then he said, “I knew your father, you know.”
“I can still remember him even though he died when I was very young,” Philippa said.
“A good man,” Sir Bayard replied brusquely. “Loyal. Honest. Knew how to do his duty. He had no sons?”
“Nay,” Philippa answered. “Not living.”
